


Snapshots

by frankiesin



Series: discontinued works [17]
Category: Suits (US TV), Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, M/M, old fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2019-10-09 23:30:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17414633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frankiesin/pseuds/frankiesin
Summary: Little one-shots from what would have been a Suits/Supernatural Crossover fic





	Snapshots

**The Number One Reason Mistletoe Should not be Placed in Public Places**

“Oh my God,” Christina put a hand to her mouth. Rachel followed the associate’s gaze back to Harvey and Mikey, then above Mike’s head. A small smile crossed Rachel’s face. “Mike, look up.”

Mike did not look up. He did not look up because he was pretty sure he already knew what was above his and Harvey’s heads. Instead, Mike looked over at his (secret) boyfriend to see if Harvey had planned to station them beneath the poisonous green leaves of doom (more commonly known as mistletoe) or if they’d ended up here out of sheer luck. Or unluck, depending. Harvey was looking up at the mistletoe with an expression of pure wrath, as though he was plotting to murder (or burn) the greenery above himself and his boyfriend. The wrath was covering up the “shit now I’ve got to kiss Mike in public and this is _not_ how I wanted our relationship to come out to everyone” panic that the closer was certainly feeling. Mike was panicking as well, partially because of the unexpected public kiss that was about to go down, partially because his ex-girlfriend was standing there, egging him and Harvey on.

“We don’t… we don’t have to do this, you know,” Mike said, not sure if he was asking Harvey or telling Christina and Rachel. But Rachel shook her head. “Oh no, this is too good for you two to pass up.”

“You really want me kissing your ex-boyfriend?” Harvey asked. Thank God for Harvey Specter, Mike thought. Then, _wait. Did I just thank_ God _for Harvey Specter? Holy shit._

“He is my _ex_ -boyfriend,” Rachel shrugged. “Kiss him all you want.”

Harvey looked over at Mike and gave him a look, one that Mike was used to seeing right before they had sex. Mike was suddenly hyper aware of the warmth in the room, as well as the steady, speedy thumping of his blood as it pulsed through his body.

And then, because Mikey was apparently less of a genius than Harvey gave him credit for, Mike Ross the fake lawyer and (supposed) genius grabbed Harvey’s tie and kissed him. The kiss wasn’t long, or overtly sexual, but Mike would be lying if he said he didn’t swipe his tongue across Harvey’s lips before ending the kiss. A silent promise for more later.

 

* * *

 

 

**Having Sex with Harvey Specter is Both Really Enjoyable and also Quite Annoying**

Mike wasn’t sure how he ended up completely naked while Harvey was still in his suit, blazer included. Who the hell took off their shoes while tracking down a missing person, but kept on their blazer? _And_ vest, _and_ tie, _and_ every other God forsaken article of clothing that was keeping Mike from Harvey.

Mike decided to make this clothing inequality known to Harvey. “I’m naked and you’re not. This is a problem.”

“Do you plan on solving it or are you just going to pay me for giving you a strip tease?” Harvey was on the edge of the bed, the palms of his hands on Mike’s thighs. Mike reached up, trailed his fingers down Harvey’s neck, and wrapped his hand around the deep red fabric of Harvey’s tie. Mike pulled down on the tie and pushed himself up, his lips leaving tiny ghosts on Harvey’s neck. “I think I can figure it out.”

“Good,” Harvey said, his voice deeper. Mike moved from the tie to the blazer, pulling it off Harvey’s shoulders and then flinging it to the far corner of the room. Back to the tie, pulling it out from under the vest, then dragging it down from Harvey’s neck. Harvey’s hands moved up, closer to Mike’s hips, thumbs pressing into the sensitive flesh. Mike leaned into Harvey, his fingernails running down the buttons of Harvey’s shirt, to the vest. The very expensive vest that looked good on Harvey. The very expensive vest that looked good on Harvey that Mike really just wanted to rip off.

So he did. In one fluid motion, Harvey was vestless, there was a button by the window, and a rip in the fabric. Harvey looked distressed. Mike laughed as Harvey held the article of clothing in his hands. The very hands that had previously been on Mike’s thighs, near his crotch. The very hands that had felt pretty damn good on Mike’s thighs. Now Mike’s body was suffering from heat abandonment, and seduction abandonment.

“You. Are… insane,” Harvey dropped the vest, adding on a signature eyeroll for good measure. He places a hand on Mike’s thigh, right around the hipbone, and cupped the younger man’s face with his other hand. Harvey kissed Mike, leaning into him, pushing Mike back so that Mike was pressed between the still clothed Harvey and the bed, and not minding the situation at all.

Except for the fact that his semi-hard dick was rubbing against Harvey’s pants, and not Harvey’s skin.

Mike made a move for the buttons on Harvey’s shirt, getting them undone as fast as humanly possible. The shirt was shrugged off of Harvey’s shoulders with ease, the t-shirt underneath it disappearing just as rapidly. Mike pushed himself and Harvey back up into a sitting position, Harvey’s knees on either side of Mike’s waist, Mike’s mouth on Harvey’s collarbone, neck, chest, nipple, stomach. Harvey’s hands in Mike’s hair, pullin the short strands, making patterns on the back of Mike’s neck with his fingerpads, breathing shallow as Mike’s mouth made it to Harvey’s zipper.

But Mikey moved back up Harvey’s torso, leaving more nips and more ghost kisses. He pulled his body flush against Harvey’s, reveling in how the closer’s grip on Mike’s shoulder tightened as hot flesh met hot flesh. Mike felt Harvey’s other hand on his ass, massaging, squeezing. Mike suppressed another moan, instead biting Harvey’s earlobe and saying, “I already ripped your vest. Do you really want my cum on your pants, too?”

“I had hoped you’d be able to hold out long enough for us to actually do something,” Harvey’s voice was nearly a growl into Mike’s neck, which didn’t help the situation. So Mike took his hands off of Harvey’s hips and unzipped Harvey’s pants, pushing them down as Harvey got up on his knees. As the pants came off, Mike and Harvey went back down, Harvey’s tongue searching out every corner of Mike’s mouth.

The boxers came off with a flip in position, and Mike found himself looking down at a very naked, very aroused Harvey Specter. Hair mussed, not a single piece of it where it was supposed to be, pupils blown wide, lips swollen, red marks on his chest.

Mike’s view of Harvey was quickly obstructed as Harvey pulled him back down for another long, tongue-involved kiss. Harvey turned them back over, and when his hands weren’t all over every sensitive part of Mike’s skin, they were grabbing the bottle of lube; the item seemed to randomly appear in Harvey’s hand, but Mike wasn’t really paying attention to anything other than how good Harvey felt everywhere.

“I’m naked now, Mike. Are you happy?” Such an easily answerable question. Such a delicious smirk on Harvey’s face when he asked it, eyes on Mike, fingers slick with lube. Mike nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m… more than happy.”

“I plan on keeping you that way for a while,” Harvey said, and leaned back down, kissing Mike as he fingered the younger man open. Mike did what he could to kiss back, but he was having a hard time thinking about much other than Harvey’s fingers inside of him, pumping, spreading, making Mike gasp for something more, something bigger. And Harvey gave Mike exactly wanted, and it was good.

 

* * *

 

 

**Harvey Specter is not Afraid of Flying, Until his Partially Healed Boyfriend Gets on the Plane With Him**

“Harvey, stop mothering me. I’m fine,” Mike said for what could have easily been the thousandth time that day. Harvey narrowed his eyes at his boyfriend. “You got stabbed. Twice. Jessica just said two weeks ago that you could go back to work. I don’t want her to take that back because you re open something.”

“Everything’s scarred over,” Mike grabbed his shoulder bag from Harvey, ignoring the mirth on the other man’s face. “There’s nothing left to reopen.”

“On the surface,” Harvey muttered, but said nothing else. For the moment, Mike had won. He reveled in his victory as he and Harvey continued down the terminal, Mike ignoring the soreness in his abdomen. Soreness was different than pain. Pain meant something was wrong. Soreness just meant that something wasn’t happy.

They made it to their gat fifteen minutes before the flight attendants called for first class boarding (which Mike and Harvey were, since Harvey refused to get squished between Mike and some unknown occupant in the economy or second class seats). Both men spent those fifteen minutes going over their newest case, which involved a double divorce of sorts. Mr was cheating on Mrs, so Mrs was trying to take her half of everything (which included half of their shared business) and leave Mr in the dust with his new busty blonde mistress.

Six months ago, Harvey would have said something about how he agreed with Donna’s rule to never date/get involved with coworkers, citing this case as evidence, but six months ago Donna hadn’t been kidnapped and Mike and Harvey hadn’t been killed by a horde of angels. So now, instead of ridiculing the woman’s poor choice in husband, Harvey was silently going through his half of the documents, looking for some way to get Mrs more than her half of the company.

“Hello, and welcome to flight number 2278 from New York City to Panama City, with a one hour layover in Atlanta,” the flight attendant said. “First class passengers are invited to board now.”

Harvey stood up first and grabbed both his and Mike’s bags, ignoring Mike’s indignant response. A bit past peeved, Mike followed Harvey onto the plane, and wordlessly took the window seat. Because Mike would rather watch the airport guys in their dorky bright orange vests than acknowledge his boyfriend at the moment. There was overprotective (which Mike could appreciate because it meant that the other party cared but sucked at showing it), and there was _over_ protective. The latter one was the man who, six months after the (near fatal) injury still treated his partner like an expensive, fragile object.

The lawyer placed his hand on Mike’s knee and said, “Mike. Give me a break. This kind of stuff,” the thumb moved, as though nervously shifting its position, “I’m not good at it. So, if you’re pissed at me for being careful, go ahead. I’d rather have you pissed at me but alive than bleeding out internally.”

“Okay,” Mike said, and swallowed. He didn’t turn back around to face Harvey though. Not yet.

“Okay?”

“Okay, as in I get your point,” Mike paused, realising his words had come out harsher than he had meant. “But Harvey, I’m fine. I mean, I’m not completely okay, but I can do normal stuff. _We_ can do normal stuff.”

Over the hum of people, Mike heard Harvey exhale. Or maybe it was just Harvey’s hand relaxing its grip on Mike’s leg. “Okay.”

 

* * *

 

 

**Donna Paulson is Queen of Everything and No One Can Say Otherwise**

Donna had her dating profile opened in her other tab, just in case someone with an unusual work schedule decided to show an interest in her. It had happened before, but _that_ incident had involved a thirty-four year old man who still lived with his mother, and had started his conversation with Donna by telling her that she resembled the porn star he jacked off to when he was sixteen. Donna had promptly gone to his profile, gathered all embarrassing information that could be gathered through the links to his social networks, and shared her new knowledge with _making_them_wet69_ before blocking him

Donna had already dated a murderer; she didn’t need a man who had never quite passed puberty.

A ping came from her computer, notifying her of a new message. Curious but also rather apprehensive, Donna switched over and read the message.

_sam_w83: so what exactly are you queen of?_

Donna’s name on the site was _queendonna_ for many reasons. She typed a few of them back to _sam_w83_ with a half-smile on her face.

_queendonna: pretty much everything (at least where i work) but i chose that name to show men that i have standards_

The man, or at least Donna supposed he was a man, didn’t respond immediately, so Donna went back to her work. If she had scared him off already, he obviously wasn’t worth her time. She got back into her work, arranging Harvey’s life, for a whole hour before a beep startled her out of her focus. She clicked back over to her profile to see that _sam_w83_ had replied. Donna raised a perfectly trimmed eyebrow as she read his reply.

_sam_w83: standards are good. i’ve developed a few of my own, but you’d probably laugh at them if you knew what they were._

This, of course, only made Donna more curious. She was about to ask Sam for some of his specific standards when another bubble appeared on her screen, followed by a beep.

_sam_w83: sorry about the late reply, by the way. my brother was being a jerk_

So he had a brother. Interesting. Donna glanced back into Harvey’s office, to make sure he was still focused on something not Donna related. There were some things that Harvey did not need to know about his secretary, and one of them was her dating profile. Over-protective Harvey was nice sometimes, but this was Donna’s private life. She knows Harvey’s every move because that’s her job; Harvey doesn’t get the same privileges over her.

But Harvey isn’t watching Donna. So she turns back around and replies to Sam’s responses with one of her own, hoping that Sam is somewhat decent when she gets around to snooping on his profile.

_queendonna: because i’m in need of some humour, could you please fill me in on some requirements for your potential dates?_

_sam_w83: sure. she has to be human, not dead, and not into anything occult_

_That_ gets Donna’s attention. Instead of responding back, she clicks on his name and goes to his profile, to figure out who the hell she’s been texting for the past fifteen-ish minutes.

 _Sam W, age thirty-one, originally from Kansas but spends most of his time on the road. Went to Stanford to get a law degree,_ Donna glanced back once again at Harvey, as though he was able to sense her interest in a lawyer. Nothing. Donna went back to Sam, _but dropped out and ended up as a Federal Agent, officially stationed in DC. Reads (too much, according to his brother), enjoys running, mythology, and intelligent women. Not looking for anything too serious, just keeping his options open._ Donna pursed her lips. She could tell that Sam was holding something back, but she had no idea what. She decided that the best way to find out was to ask, without actually asking.

_queendonna: you mentioned a brother. does he work with you or is he just omnipresent?_

Donna waited for a few seconds before Sam replied that his brother did work with him, that they were currently working on a case together, and that Sam’s brother was teasing Sam relentlessly for having an online dating profile in the first place. Donna smirked a bit at that, and then typed out a response of her own.

_queendonna: and that is exactly why no one at my job knows about this_

 

* * *

**It Turns Out that Dean Winchester Really is as Gay as Mike Thought**

Mike is still awake at two in the morning, trying to finish editing the briefs Harvey gave him, as well as sort through the witness list that Louis decided to add onto Mike’s to-do list at the last moment. Mike isn’t sure who he hates more at the moment, but he’s pretty sure that the whole universe is winning.

And then someone has the gall to knock on his door. And Mike is stupid enough (and deprived of enough Re Bull, as he ran out an hour and a half ago) to go answer it.

“Hey Mike,” says a person from Mike Ross’s past that the fake lawyer never thought he’d see again. Mike’s first conclusion is that his brain is making this up. “Dean?

“Yep,” the man grins, a grin so signature to him that Mike knows his brain isn’t making it up this time. Dean Winchester, three times dead Dean Winchester, is standing in Mike’s doorway with a lopsided grin on his face and his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of a leather jacket. And instead of asking how he’s not dead or how he found Mike’s apartment in all of New York, Mike asks, “why two in the morning?”

“Because you don’t keep regular hours, and neither do I.” Dean brushes past Mike and into the apartment. “I’m also trying to avoid my… an angel.”

“You work with _angels_ now?” Mike closes the door more forcefully than he wanted to, but Dean’s comment kind of required an awkwardly loud and out of place noise. Mike knew that Dean dealt with monsters and other non-human things, but he was under the impression that Dean _killed them_ , and didn’t work with them. Plot twist.

“Yeah.” Dean laid down on Mike’s couch, kicking off the jacket that was already there. “I’m crashing here, by the way. Don’t question it.”

“Dean, that’s my couch. I’m going to question… you. About this angel thing.” Mike walked over to his jacket, which was a sad bump on the floor. Mike picked it up and threw it onto Dean’s face. “I’d like some sort of explanation, Dean. Last time you said you hunted monsters, this time… you’re working with angels. Who aren’t monsters historically, but you also said that you’d taken out a few pagan gods, and they’re supposedly good. So, what’s so special about your angel?”

Dean sat up and looked at Mike with the closed look Mike had received every time he asked about the hunter’s family. Whether Dean told Mike the significance of the angel or not, Mike already knew that the angel meant a lot to Dean.

“What part of _don’t ask questions_ did you not understand?” Dean laid back down and folded his arms over his chest.

“Dean.”

“Mike.”

“The angel means something to you… as much as your brother… maybe. I don’t know,” Mike said, watching Dean’s face for any clues as to what his relationship was to this angel. “And you told me about Sam, so I’m going to assume that you’ll trust me enough to maybe tell me about the angel.”

“His name is Castiel,” Dean was staring at his feet. “I call him Cas… he’s, uh, he’s like family. Hell, he even fell—from grace, not on his face or something—for me… but he got his grace back recently, so _that’s_ okay. There’s just some stuff between me and him that needs to be dealt with, and Cas wants to deal with it now. I don’t, ‘cause we’re on a job, and we’ve gotta focus on the monster.”

“Okay,” Mike said, but inside he was realising how much Dean was holding back. Castiel wasn’t just family to Dean. Castiel meant something more. Something much more. Mike told Dean to enjoy the couch, and then left the hunter alone. Mike smiled to himself. _So Dean’s got a thing for the angel. That’s good to know._

 


End file.
